


Never Mind About the Weather (Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!)

by AwkwardTiming



Series: Baby It's Cold Outside [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas music reference, Coming Untouched, M/M, Popcorn, White Christmas, finding condoms on Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardTiming/pseuds/AwkwardTiming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas morning -- sequel to External Temperatures Below Advised Range for Departure</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Mind About the Weather (Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!)

Molly grinned at Lestrade as they let themselves into 221B. Mrs. Hudson had mentioned leaving early to visit with her sister, despite or perhaps because of the predicted snow and had asked that they “Pop round and check in on Sherlock. Poor dear will be alone on Christmas otherwise. Christmas, of all days.”

Molly had assured her it would be no problem and as Greg had stayed at hers the night before, she’d dragged him along. She had the impression that he would also have been alone for the day, with his divorce just final and his kids and ex-wife somewhere in the North for the holiday.

They made their way up the stairs and, as expected found the door unlocked. There was the clink of ceramic in the kitchen indicated that Sherlock was awake and moving about. Molly called out, “Happy Christmas, Sherlock.” She shrugged out of her coat and made her way toward the kitchen. “Mrs. Hudson mentioned she was going out of town and you’d be alone, so Greg and I said we’d stop by and see if you wanted to share a Christmas…” her voice trailed off as she realized that it was not, in fact, Sherlock in the kitchen. “Meal,” she finished.

Behind her, Greg gaped. He recalled the blond former army doctor, if only vaguely, from the night before. 

“Hi,” John greeted the two, looking mildly self-conscious at being caught out in someone else’s flat in a pair of candy-cane boxer shorts making a cuppa. “Sherlock’s just,” John gestured vaguely.

At that, there was the sound of feet coming up the stairs, “John, I found an open chemist and bought a couple…” Sherlock came to a halt just inside the door a box of condoms in one hand and a bag in the other. “Sandwiches.”

“Happy Christmas,” Greg said as Molly asked, “Open chemist?”

“For condoms,” Sherlock replied holding up the large box at Molly’s question before he realized what he was doing. Once it registered, he lowered the box and met John’s gaze with a small grin.

John felt himself flush even as he returned the grin.

“Right,” Greg said, swallowing a laugh.

“I only purchased two sandwiches,” Sherlock said, still looking at John.

“We’ll not stay. Mrs. Hudson was concerned you’d be spending Christmas on your own,” Greg explained as he began to usher a gaping Molly out the door. “But as you are not, we’ll be on our way and leave you to your… celebrations.”

“Happy Christmas,” John called after them. 

“Nice to see you again,” Molly called back, finally gathering herself. 

With a final wave, Sherlock closed the door behind the departing pair.

“Were the sandwiches a clever ruse or did you actually buy food?” John asked. “Your fridge contains a surprising lack of edible items despite the party yesterday.”

“I found sandwiches.” Sherlock replied. After a slight hesitation as he remembered what exactly was in his refrigerator, he asked, “You were looking for food?”

“I thought I’d make you breakfast while I waited.”

“There is no food in my refrigerator,” Sherlock said carefully.

“No, it didn’t look like there was. I did find milk that hadn’t gone off, though. I took a guess that you like your tea sweet and a little milky.” John indicated where two mugs sat on the counter.

“There are…” Sherlock struggled to find a way to express what was in his fridge.

“Yes, I noticed. It’s your fridge. I’m assuming you acquired them more or less legally.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You’re not bothered by it?”

“I’m a little concerned for your nutrition if you don’t keep food around, but no. Not bothered by it.”

They stared at each other for a moment, as things rearranged themselves in each man’s mind. 

Sherlock stashed the bag in the otherwise empty vegetable crisper drawer and moved toward John. Once within reach, John helpfully pushed Sherlock’s coat from his shoulders, then began unbuttoning his shirt while Sherlock set the coat aside. Shirt unbuttoned, John quickly unbuttoned Sherlock’s trousers, pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and stepped around him. Heading back to the bedroom, he called, “Bring the condoms.”

Sherlock grabbed the box and divested himself of his shirt while he walked. John had tidied the bedclothes and was sitting on the edge of the bed. Sherlock held the box of condoms out to him and John tossed them up near the pillow before tugging Sherlock between his legs by his belt loops to nuzzle at the fine hairs on his stomach.

Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s short hair and across the tops of his shoulders. As John pushed his trousers and pants down and nuzzled at his rather eager erection, Sherlock huffed out a laugh. John pulled back and looked up. 

Sherlock shook his head. “Nothing. Just, thinking about last night.”

John pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s stomach and Sherlock could feel him smile. “Yeah, I was too a bit.”

“I’m fairly certain I’ll have better control this time.”

“Fairly certain?” John looked up again.

“Not enough data, really, to guarantee.”

There was a slight pause before John toppled Sherlock, rolling so that Sherlock was sprawled under him. “Well, then let’s improve your data pool.”

Sherlock kicked to remove his trousers completely then pushed John’s boxers down and off. Though there was a certain degree of eagerness to it, they took their time touching and kissing, mapping muscle under skin, scars and all. Sherlock dragged gentle fingers across the angry, recently healed skin of John’s shoulder. John rubbed a calloused thumb across Sherlock’s nipple to watch him shudder. Lips pressed and moved away only to draw together again a moment later. 

John’s hands skimmed down Sherlock’s sides, resting on then tugging against the firm muscles of his arse. Sherlock groaned against his lips and deepended their kiss, wiggling his hips slightly in John’s grasp. As John’s fingers slid toward the cleft, Sherlock pressed back into them.

John pulled away slightly and with a quirk of his eyebrow asked, “Lube?”

There was a look of panic. John closed his eyes and huffed a laugh. Somewhere in their early morning fumbling, Sherlock had mentioned a need for condoms. John hadn’t thought to ask about lube.

Suddenly Sherlock grinned and rolled to the side. As Sherlock leaned over the edge, John was treated to the sight of the same posterior he’d just been fondling wiggling about while Sherlock groped for something under the bed. With a grunt of triumph, Sherlock sat up and handed John the small tube before flopping back against the pillows.

John read the label. “Gingerbread?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, suppressing a chuckle.

“And you were storing it under your bed?”

Pulling a face that would have probably looked intimidating had he not been naked and flushed with arousal, Sherlock replied, “I was displeased with the viscosity.”

John smiled and leaned in for a kiss, flipping the cap open with one hand. He squeezed a dollop into the palm of his left hand and reached for Sherlock. Two slick, strong pulls yielded nothing more than a heartfelt groan from Sherlock and John pulled back to meet Sherlock’s gaze. They grinned at each other for a moment, until Sherlock broke eye contact, his back arching as John pressed one finger at his entrance.

John took his time opening Sherlock up. Every stroke earned him a new sound from the other man. Sherlock’s hands roamed over everything he could reach, sliding through John’s hair, resting on the muscles in his arm as it moved. When three fingers could slide easily in and out, Sherlock reached for and opened a condom. John moved to let him roll it on and squeezed some of the strangely scented lube into Sherlock’s palm. Sherlock stroked John, both of them getting lost in the sensation until John recalled the purpose and moved between Sherlock’s legs. 

They shuffled about until they were slotted together. John lined himself up and sought out Sherlock’s eyes before pressing forward. Sherlock’s eyes slid closed as he pressed into John. The angle and disparity in their heights meant that John couldn’t reach up to kiss Sherlock again, so he contented himself with sliding his fingers along Sherlock’s side softly. Once fully inside, Sherlock’s legs locked tightly behind him, John paused, needing a moment to commit the sight to memory. Sherlock’s skin was flushed, his hair in disarray. He was watching John like John was some sort of Christmas miracle.

John smiled and Sherlock smiled back. John remained still a bit too long, though, and was recalled only when Sherlock made a questioning sound and shifted. 

John shook his head, smile softening, “Nothing. Just. This isn’t how I imagined Christmas would be this year.”

Sherlock frowned slightly. “Not good?”

John looked down to where their bodies were joined and chuckled slightly. “Very good, just unexpected.” 

He began to move, slowly at first, then picking up speed. When Sherlock reached for himself, John stopped him by entwining their fingers.

“Can we try something?” he asked, focused on Sherlock’s erection, red and beginning to leak.

Sherlock licked his lips and nodded when John looked up at him. John shifted and Sherlock gasped as John dragged across his prostate. It didn’t take long for them to be gasping and grasping at each other. Just when Sherlock was about to beg to be touched, John did something, shifted somehow and Sherlock went off like a Christmas cracker, spreading confetti everywhere. John touched him then, through the aftershocks of it, until Sherlock was too sensitive and with a tightening of his thighs encouraged John to his own end.

As they dozed afterward, Sherlock curled along John’s side, one foot between John’s calves, John’s fingers dancing along his back, it occurred to John that he possibly ought to return home. Or at least leave Sherlock to whatever his plans had been for the day before John had shown up at the party and failed to leave.

Eventually he voiced that question, “Should I get out of your hair?” John asked, his fingers tangled quite literally in Sherlock’s messy curls.

Sherlock huffed out a laugh and looked up. “No, I like your hand where it is.” With a half-smile, he continued, “And you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Unless you wanted to get home before the snow hits.”

“I forgot about that,” John said. There was a storm predicted to hit late Christmas night. The weather service was predicting 8 inches of snow before morning. John didn’t move though, dragging his fingers down Sherlock’s back, from the base of his skull to his tailbone. Sherlock arched into the touch and tightened his arm around John’s middle.

When John’s stomach grumbled, Sherlock levered himself up. “Sandwiches?” he asked.

John nodded and slid out of bed after Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed a dressing gown from the end of the bed and handed a second one to John from his closet once John had pulled his boxers back on.

They made their way back to the kitchen where John dumped out the now completely cooled tea and set about making fresh cups. Sherlock retrieved the sandwiches from the crisper and pulled out plates to put them on. They moved as though this were a common occurrence, John picking up the mugs of tea from the counter once done and carrying them into the sitting room, setting the tea down next to the chairs where they’d sat the night before while Sherlock brought out the sandwiches. 

“Fire?” John asked.

“If you like,” was Sherlock’s reply. “Should I fetch some biscuits from Mrs. Hudson?”

“She’s out, I thought.”

“She’ll have left something.”

“Then yeah. If we end up not wanting them now, I’m sure they’ll be welcome later.”

Sherlock left the sandwiches and went to retrieve the tin he knew his landlady would have left on her own table with a note for him. When he returned, John had a fire going and the plate and was settled into the chair, sipping his own tea. A book on Victorian medical practice open in his lap.

They ate in companionable silence, John flipping through the book and Sherlock browsing for something on his phone.

The fire lent a warm glow to the room, the crackling noises a perfect background to the otherwise still room and quiet street beyond. Sherlock looked up to find John watching him and shifted slightly, making room for John’s feet again. John smiled his thanks and slid his feet alongside Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock curled a hand around John’s ankle and went back to checking his email. 

Seduced by the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the companionship in the room, John let his head fall back on the chair, his eyes drifting closed. 

When he woke, the clock read 3:00 and Sherlock was dozing in the chair opposite and a thick blanket of snow lay on the opposite roof, with more falling heavily from the sky. He shifted, his foot tapping against Sherlock opened his eyes and looked startled to find he’d been asleep.

“John?” he questioned, his voice rough with sleep.

“The snow’s started,” John said softly, indicating the window behind Sherlock with a jerk of his head.

Sherlock rolled his head to look behind him at the snow, then looked back to John. “Do you need to go?”

“I don’t have anywhere I need to be, no.”

Sherlock smiled softly. “Then we might as well let it snow. The fire’s warm.”

“It is. Rather delightful, really.”

“I’m glad you suggested it.”

“Me, too.”

“I bought popcorn earlier. If you wanted a snack.”

John grinned. “I haven’t had popcorn in ages.”

Sherlock stood and went to the kitchen. 

As he puttered about, John called out, “Should I turn a light on?”

“Only if you want,” Sherlock replied. “We could watch a movie?”

“I’ll put something on,” John replied. He moved to the couch, find the remote and turning on the small television that seemed to get little use. A quick search of the channels yield the end of an animated Christmas movie and the beginning of White Christmas.

Sherlock returned, carrying the bowl of popcorn and two glasses of wine. As he handed one glass to John, he said, “Not the most traditional pairing perhaps.”

“It’s perfect.” John sat back on the couch and tugged Sherlock closer to him when he sat. 

As the storm raged on outside, and without conferring on the subject, Sherlock and John agreed wholeheartedly on one thing: let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I'm terrible about rereading. If you notice errors and want to let me know: awkwardtiming@gmail.com or https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awkwardtiming. Also appreciated: pointing out additional tags that should be used.
> 
> 2) Please consider letting me know what you think.
> 
> 3) Thank you for reading!


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